Shadows On The Walls
by Rozella
Summary: It's only been two years since Sirius was sent to Azkaban, but it's finally started to get to him...[Yes, I know, another Sirius fic. I'm sorry, this'll be the last one, I promise. -_- Rated PG just to be safe.]


Shadows On The Walls

A/N: People like Sirius, and so do I. He's the best to work with when you aren't feeling right. Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. And please, review when you're through. Otherwise Sirius angst fics such as this will become endangered…and yeah, mhm. Anyway, I'm gonna leave him alone after this for a bit…I have other stories that need tending to. =) Oh yes, and of course, it aaaaall belongs to Ms. Rowling. Thank you, and please, come again. ^-^

PS Thanks so much to everyone who's reviewed my fics so far. I can't tell you how much I truly appreciate it…*sniffle* I love you guyz. ^-^;;;

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Shadows On The Walls

As if the darkness wasn't enough. As if the sleepless nights, freezing cell and demons guarding him day and night weren't enough. No, of course it wasn't, because _He_ had to be there. Staring at him. Staring, all day, all night, and then sadly shaking His head and disappearing for hours at a time. Why?

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No rest for the weary…for the wicked…

Sirius gripped his head and screwed his eyes shut, trying unsuccessfully to block Him out. He had tried that before, of course, and it had never worked. He didn't know why he thought it would work then, but it was worth a try. However, after slowly counting to ten, his jaw clenched the entire time, he opened his eyes once more…

And He was still there, staring sadly through the bars of Sirius's cell. Sadly, but condescendingly. Sirius hated it. 

"Fine," he growled. "Fine, just stare all you want! I don't care!"

And with that, he spun himself around on the uncomfortable mattress to face the wall, feeling like a spoiled child throwing a temper tantrum. Tiredly, he pressed his forehead against the icy concrete and closed his eyes. He hadn't slept the entire week, ever since He started coming around. Not like he slept much anyway, but he was sleeping a lot less now. At first Sirius was ecstatic to have someone there, someone that could help him stave off the madness. 

But all Hedid was stare. Never saying a word, never acknowledging the ones that Sirius screamed.

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Just staring staring staring! 

Out of reflex, Sirius suddenly banged his head against the wall, as if to stop the shrill tones that were rising in his mind. He hated yelling at himself. He hated having to tell himself '_You do kinda deserve this_.' He knew that he did, but did he really have to be treated like some kind of animal in a zoo?

__

I wouldn't be surprised if they started selling tickets soon…Come and see Sirius Black! The mangy Deatheater that killed the Potters and Voldemort all in one night!

Of course they wouldn't say Voldemort, they'd probably say "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named", or "You-Know-Who", or some other cop-out. Sirius could not understand how someone could be frightened of a name, but sometimes he wondered if his now received the same treatment. Was he "You-Also-Know-Who" by now? Or perhaps he was forgotten, filed away with the others in the Victory pile. Yes, that was probably it. He was a victory to them, some kind of twisted trophy now kept in an equally as twisted trophy case. Sirius shuddered as he remembered it, the day they had grabbed him there on the street, and all he could do was laugh, surrounded by the bodies of muggles. He could only imagine how _that_ must have looked. Well, of course he knew how it had looked. But he couldn't help it. At that moment, when Peter practically exploded right there in front of him, something inside snapped. It wasn't real anymore, there was _no way_ anything that had happened then could have been real, it was all too much. And it made him laugh, harder than he had ever laughed in his life. And it felt _good_. 

Then he was accused of killing James and Lily, and it soon stopped being funny. Especially when he realized it was almost true, and everyone believed it was completely. Even Remus, dear old Moony, he believed that Sirius had done it. He'd never seen such a look of contempt from Remus before, and it was unsettling. Sirius had wanted to tell him so, wanted to tell him a whole hell of a lot more, but he couldn't.

And now, two years later, sitting slouched on a stained, uncomfortable mattress in Azkaban with Him watching every day, he _still_ couldn't say anything. It was too hard to get everything sorted out with himself, because as every day passed he was losing more and more of his memory. The Dementors were sucking it out of him, leaving him with only the most painful details. Finding James and Lily…giving little Harry to Hagrid…the scene after Peter had blown the street to bits…and now…now…

Sirius looked behind him to see if He was still there. He wasn't.

Satisfied, Sirius turned around once more and tried to get as comfortable as he could on his cot. Maybe now that He was gone, he could get some rest. 

But even as Sirius closed his eyes, he couldn't stop thinking. He started remembering all the nights back at Hogwarts in Gryffindor tower. The nights when he, Prongs and Wormtail would sneak out to go keep Moony company, or when all four of them would prowl around the castle setting up some elaborate prank to avenge themselves against the Slytherins. He remembered the first night there. He and James had already become fast friends, and the other two boys who had been assigned that room (Peter Pettigrew and Remus Lupin) had kept quietly to themselves as James and Sirius had it out over who got the last bed next to the window. James had won of course, but Sirius was certain he'd got a few good hits in. After brushing themselves off, the two friends had introduced themselves to their audience, and the rest of the night was spent getting to know each other. Remus had dozed off before the rest of them, so Sirius made sure to keep Peter awake by telling him that the Bloody Baron was going to come up to "tuck him in". This had earned Sirius a well-aimed pillow to the head, thrown by James as punishment for picking on poor Peter. 

Sirius scoffed out loud. _Poor Peter, my ass…James always stood up for him…if only he knew what Peter was capable of…_

His eyes suddenly started to sting, and he dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. He hated this part, hated the headache he always got whenever he tried to drive the tears back. Somehow, his reasoning was that if he didn't cry, he wouldn't lose whatever strength he had left, but sometimes the ache in his chest was too much to bear, and he almost lost it. But not completely. Not yet anyway. 

He waited for the moment to pass, and when it did, he lowered his hands, only to see that He was back. 

"You're too early," Sirius whispered to the ceiling. The ceiling said nothing in return. 

He stared.

Sirius reminisced.

When Voldemort was in his prime, not too long after the Marauders had left school and James had been married, "You-Know-Who" began to hunt the Potters. When this had been brought to their attention, a very difficult charm was performed by Albus Dumbledore himself in order to help protect them. Sirius, having been extremely close to James, was made their Secret-Keeper. It was perfect. Voldemort would never find them now.

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But you got scared didn't you? You were frightened that something would go wrong. You were frightened of being too obvious. And what did you do?

Sirius had persuaded James that if he and Lily had used Peter instead, Voldemort wouldn't even be looking in the right direction when he came looking for the Secret-Keeper. The Potters consented, and the charm was performed once more, this time without anyone knowing, not even poor Remus, so security would be even tighter.

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And then what happened? What did your 'perfect plan' accomplish?

No more than a week later, James and Lily were dead, and it had been Sirius who had found them. Found their house in shambles, found the bodies of James and Lily amidst the ruins, and little Harry…alive, and still clutched tightly in his mother's arms. The actual sight of it all had shocked Sirius into a momentary stupor, but when he rushed to James's limp form and realized what must have happened, the stupor fell away and was immediately replaced by a grief unlike anything he'd ever felt before. Lingering denial had persuaded him to check Lily as well, hoping that perhaps she had escaped Voldemort's wrath, hoping that, by some miracle, she would still be alive. But he knew the truth, and it was like someone was slowly twisting the proverbial knife in his chest.

Harry was the only one left, and even though Sirius was his godfather, he couldn't take him. Hagrid had shown up, and said that Dumbledore had a plan. Sirius didn't want to give up his only remaining link to James and Lily, not one bit. It was up to him, Sirius, to take care of Harry, to protect him from harm, and he was ready for it. However, Hagrid did not relent, and, after a lot of convincing, Sirius finally gave Harry up, and had even loaned his charmed motorbike to Hagrid. At that point, Sirius was a miserable mess, almost hysterical with grief and trying to communicate rationally through sudden tears, and Hagrid did his best to try and comfort him before leaving. Harry was delivered to his Muggle relatives, and Sirius ran. He knew what had happened, and it enraged him. Because he knew that he was partly, if not completely to blame. His perfect plan had killed his best friend. If only he had known, if only he had _realized_ how weak Peter was…

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Then they'd still be alive. And where would you be?

Home. Or dead. Either way, it would have been better if it was me. I _should have been killed…_I_ should have died to save them instead of being so frightened as to trust a coward._

But no matter what anyone said, no matter how often he told himself likewise, it was still Peter in the end. Peter was the one who had handed James and Lily to Voldemort, not Sirius. _Peter_.

The very name brought a foul taste to Sirius's mouth, and he reached over the side of the cot for the dented and worn metal cup of water that was always there. He sat up and leaned against the wall, cradling the cup in his lap as he stared back at Him. Just staring…staring…

Empathetically, condescendingly…Sirius knew what _he_ was saying: _Stop hurting yourself, Sirius. You know better…_

But did Hehave to stare so much? Did Hehave to stand there, day and night, as if to serve as some kind of reminder? As if he'd forget? 

All of a sudden, a burst of rage rushed through him, and Sirius hurled the cup at the cell door. CLANG! The sound of metal-on-metal rang through the halls as Sirius screamed, "_I DIDN'T KILL YOU!"_

Chest heaving, he could only stare back as _he_ continued to look on, unperturbed by the flying cup, or the water that had sprayed the wall behind Him. For a moment, Sirius simply sat there, numb, as if that last burst of anger had completely severed him from the rest of the world. Finally, Sirius could see what was really there, and finally, he could allow those few tears to streak silently down his face.

James shook his head sadly and looked away from Sirius, before slowly fading back into the darkness.

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Shadows on the walls, thought Sirius as he sank into a daze. _Nothing but shadows on the walls…_


End file.
